


His Bodyguard

by Soraya (soraya2004)



Series: His Bodyguard [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, DADT, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Jealousy, M/M, Pining John Sheppard, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/Soraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's ability to piss people off gets him everything he needs out of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Sed quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"  
Translated as: But who shall guard the guards themselves?  
'Satire VI' by Decimus Iunius Iuvenalis

\---

 

On the way to Area 51, John promised himself that things would be different this time around.

He knew he wasn't the type to follow orders blindly. Still, as much as he didn't deserve this two year exile, occasionally he did have moments of clarity where he recognized that not all of this was the Air Force flexing its muscle and that he could, in fact, shoulder a lot of the blame for finding himself in this position.

With that in mind, he made a real effort to conform in his first few hours on post. He went through basic orientation with a bland smile, doing all the standard meet and greets, and generally he behaved like the kind of soldier the USAF wanted in its ranks.

Right until he met Colonel Dillon Everett: his new CO.

***

The sense he got in that office was more 'interrogation' than 'meet and greet'. Everett spent a long time eyeing him from the comfort of his chair while _he_ stood under those bright lights waiting and waiting. He waited because he didn't have a choice, and because the new him didn't take deliberate baits. But every so often, his feet would shuffle, or his hands would clench; and as he watched Everett watching him squirm, a cold, hard feeling settled in his stomach.

No one here had his back. He'd guessed that coming in; he could see it now in Everett's eyes. Everett wasn't going to give him a real shot at making things work. The worst part was that he knew he'd had his chances not so long ago when he still had a career. Now, with hundreds of Everetts out there, waiting for him to fail so they could get rid of him once and for all, he wasn't sure how much time he had left.

The thought of that wound him so tight he started scowling and gritting his teeth. He didn't give a damn that he was broadcasting his feelings, until Everett sneered, "Now _that's_ the Major Sheppard I expected!"

"Reporting for duty as ordered, sir!" And for once he bit his tongue after that, because he still needed this job and he really didn't want to fuck this up, at least not on day one.

"Well, I guess this must be my lucky day," Everett continued with another sneer, making him bite down even harder. And he stood there trying to keep it together while Everett pretended to read his file.

There was plenty of head-shaking going on, along with some sighing and the occasional disbelieving grunt. Signs that Everett was not happy with the situation—something he could absolutely relate to right then.

He hated being on the outside again; he hated the hollow feeling that came with it; he hated the way Everett kept eyeing him like he was something the cat had dragged in. The terrible part was that he couldn't see things changing any time soon. He'd met COs like this before: guys, who were so 'by the book' they wouldn't cut their own kids any slack let alone people like him with black marks on their record.

"You know, Colonel Marshall Sumner was a very good friend of mine," Everett murmured all of a sudden, making it seem almost like an afterthought.

Except it wasn't; he knew that because his tour in Afghanistan was the main reason he'd been grounded in the first place. Before he could respond, Everett changed track completely, saying, "Yes, I think 'Security Detail' would be perfect for you."

Which set off all his alarm bells, because Everett was mad as hell—he could see that now—and the only person around to blame for Sumner's death was him. He wasn't sure what worried him more: that Everett and Sumner went way back, or that they both seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Either way, now that any chance of a clean slate had gone, he didn't suppose it really mattered any more.

He thought about the past and about his future, about the choices he'd made to end up where he was, and about the way Everett finally waved him toward a chair like he was flipping him the bird instead of inviting him to sit down. And even though he'd sworn to keep a lid on the old John Sheppard, the one who _liked_ pissing people off and skirting the line without crossing it, he whipped out his best 'fuck you' smile and said, "Prefer to stand, sir," in the laziest drawl he had.

Everything went downhill from there. Everett's face suddenly looked very pinched around the eyes. So, immediately, he cranked up the wattage on his smile. Like that, the lines were drawn. He stood on one side of the desk radiating his usual brand of insolence; Everett sat behind it with the furious glare of every CO determined to break him.

Strangely enough, that put him right at ease.

***

The team Everett gave him wasn't a big surprise. In fact, watching Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagen spar together in the gym, John figured out pretty fast that these were the guys no one else wanted. It meant they all had something in common. Which, at least, was a starting point; and he kept telling himself that after they stopped sparring and then started staring him down like he was the enemy not their new team lead.

The truth was _he_ didn't know if he wanted these guys either! Neither one of them was US military. They were supposedly part of some law enforcement cultural exchange: Teyla from the NSA, and Ronon from some _hush hush_ special ops group called Sateda. But, apparently, the only exchange they'd done so far was to beat the crap out of anyone, who got in their way. From their less than welcoming expressions, John had a feeling that rumour might actually be true.

"Hey," he said, trying not to look intimidated. "Maybe I could train with you guys from now on!" He threw it out there as a way to break the ice. Sure, he needed stay in shape, but that stick fighting they'd been doing earlier had looked pretty cool.

"I do not think that would be wise," Teyla responded with a visible cringe.

Ronon growled, "Yeah, what she said," in case he hadn't got the message.

Then they both proceeded to walk past him, taking special care to shoulder him out of the way.

Since, technically, they were all still getting to know each other, John decided to let that slide. "Okay, how about target practice," he suggested instead. And even _he_ cringed at how desperate he sounded, but he was clutching at straws here. Something told him that if he didn't sort this out now, Teyla and Ronon would never respect him. "Look, we could get in some rounds, then just hang out, maybe grab a few beers afterwards."

Teyla turned round, looking suspicious but like she was weighing her options. "Are you spying on us?" she said in the end.

"He does kind of look like a rat," Ronon added before suddenly veering off to the left.

"Whoa, wait a minute!" And John threw both hands up in the universal sign of _'what the fuck?'_ because he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Is that what they told you? Because I am _not_ that guy." He got a little concerned when Teyla started twirling her sticks again because Ronon had somehow managed to slip behind him, boxing him in. But he knew they weren't going to attack him. At least he was pretty sure they weren't going to attack him. "Look, I'm pretty new to this team thing," he admitted, trying to change their minds if they _were_. "But whatever you may have heard about me, I always put my team first and I never, ever leave my people behind. You got that?"

He'd barely finished speaking before Ronon slapped him on the back so hard he went flying.

"Okay, that's enough!" he yelled at them, scrambling to his feet and raising his fists, making both of them raise their eyebrows. "Seriously, you guys are officially pissing me off!"

He rounded in on Teyla first, thinking he stood a better chance of taking her down. And he was just about ready to charge at her when Ronon said, "Oh man, you should have seen your face," before Ronon just burst out laughing.

Teyla, suddenly, looked like she wanted to laugh as well but was holding it in to spare his feelings or something.

He figured out then that they'd been screwing with him all along. Only by that point, he almost didn't care that he'd passed some sort of a test; the way Ronon kept clutching at his sides and howling was really starting to get to him.

"Hey, it's not that funny," John tried not to whine, and he glared pointedly at Ronon, folding both arms across his chest.

Still, the more he thought about it, he realized it _was_ kind of funny that he'd gone all _Major CO_ back there! For a moment, he tried to imagine what it would be like to really lead these guys, to know that they would have his back no matter what and that he would have theirs. Watching the two of them shake with laughter, he got the strangest feeling that _this_ really _was_ his kind of team.

***

Aside from zero flight time, John really didn't mind his new job that much. He felt a bit weird admitting that to Mitch's grandma when she called one evening to check up on him. Especially since he had a feeling things wouldn't stay that way, if Everett had anything to say about with it. Still, for the time being, he wasn't complaining! "Basically, it's a series of milk runs," he told her. "We take people in, they tour the secure levels while we wait around for them, then we take them back out again. No one's shooting at us. So, yeah, I'm good!" And that at least was the truth.

The way things were going on the team front, he had no serious complaints there either. He and Ronon had bonded over non-regulation hair and a mutual dislike of Everett's command. Which pretty much cemented his path of insubordination now that he had a brother-in-arms. Teyla, on the other hand, was the sort of anchor he'd always wanted, because she never judged whenever something weird happened, she just rolled her eyes like he and Ronon were little boys she had to wrangle.

It still took him a while to settle on post. Having specialists on his team certainly made the job a lot easier. But all together, he, Ronon and Teyla made kind of a motley crew, and there were more than a few moments where they didn't quite see eye to eye.

Slowly, though, and through a process of trial and error, he worked out a series of compromises that everyone could live with.

The week usually started with one of Everett's pep talks, which usually went along the lines of _*screw this up and you're history*_ , and which, by some mutual unspoken agreement, he started to take alone since no one else could tune them out like he could. Once he got their assignments, Ronon did the tactical planning while Teyla handled the diplomatic _meet and greets_ , before they all fell into formation around their subject with him on point the rest of the way.

The real sticking point was having to stomach being nothing more than glorified tour guides. He knew there were other guys, who worked the secure levels, but _his_ team never seemed to get those assignments. Occasionally, they were lucky enough to get a subject, who was tired of the usual show and who wanted to know what life on post was really like. Whenever that happened, John led the group _off piste_ with the kind of enthusiasm that pushed Everett from pep talks into threats, but which he also hoped would get them noticed for all the right reasons.

***

In a bizarre twist of irony, Everett's new civilian counterpart took care of that by making a play for his team. The moment they met Dr. Elizabeth Weir, John had her tagged as a textbook _off pister_. She was smart, a little jaded, but still searching for the truth. So he made sure they showed her as much truth as they could find in a top secret military-run research facility. Which, admittedly, wasn't much given his clearance level.

Still, at the end of her first tour, Weir shocked the hell out of him by saying, "You've impressed me, Major; not many people do," in that neutral tone all the diplomats seemed to use. She then made a few comments about his refreshing brand of honesty before mentioning her plans for a more permanent security detail.

John tried not to get his hopes up. Weir's spiel about liking unconventional leadership styles seemed sincere. Privately, though, he had a feeling it was Ronon's inability to bullshit that had really caught her attention. Whatever it was, Weir surprised him again by making a formal request for his team; and despite Everett's attempts to block it, he, Teyla and Ronon became a regular fixture on Weir's detail whenever she was on post.

He found it much easier to settle after that. Ronon grumbled a lot less; Teyla looked more serene; they got comfortable working the diplomatic levels and even picked up a few more regulars along the way. Most of the time though, they handled Weir, who was patient and polite and who seemed to take a genuine interest in them as individuals.

***

With several months of this kind of treatment, John went from not minding his job to thinking it might actually help salvage his career. Until the week he walked into Everett's office where, instead of the usual pep talk, Everett threw a personnel file at him and then announced that his team had been pulled from Elizabeth Weir's detail effective immediately.

"Sir, may I ask why?" John ground out, shocked. It didn't make any sense. Weir liked them; she was one of the few people, who did!

"Well, McKay's convinced that someone's out to get him," Everett explained. "You've heard about McKay haven't you? Dr. Rodney McKay? Our chief science officer just back from Antarctica?" Everett didn't wait for him to answer. "Anyway, McKay's a key asset with a lead in to some top priority research. Some genius at the Pentagon decided to bump his threat rating up to Sigma-eight. Which means he now needs protection on post and off. So, as of today, you and your team are on _McKay rotation_ full time."

After that, Everett gave him a satisfied smile, like he'd just won something or had finally found a way to break him.

John refused to give Everett the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

Deep down, though, he was worried. Because, across security teams, McKay was what they called BAD NEWS:

> **B** ossy,  
>  **A** rrogant and  
>  **D** ifficult to work with, which meant that  
>  **N** obody  
>  **E** ver  
>  **W** anted to  
>  **S** tay.

By dropping McKay on him, Everett was clearly bringing out the big guns; and with no real weapons of his own, suddenly John felt hopelessly out-manoeuvred.

He kept his cool for the most part, used as he was to handling himself under fire. He even flicked through McKay's file, determined to make a show of reading it so Everett wouldn't know how rattled he was. But as he stood there with the words swirling in front of him and his stomach twisting into knots, it occurred to him that, unless he could pull off a 'hail Mary' here, this just might be the end of his career.

 _Then_ , his stomach twisted in an entirely different way when he spotted the picture of a man with bright blue eyes and an unhappy slant to his mouth.

Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD didn't look _that_ bad, let alone like someone, who'd driven one detail so crazy they'd effectively gone on strike. He _did_ look a bit conceited, as well as uptight and seriously pissed off. Though that was probably just bad lighting, John thought desperately, wondering who the hell he was trying to kid.

"Any idea who's after him?" He glanced at Everett, expecting the basic threat assessment. What he got instead was the kind of scornful laugh, which sounded like Everett was farting through his nose.

"See, with McKay, it could be anyone," Everett said once he'd calmed down a little. "I swear that guy has a talent for pissing people off. Everywhere he goes it's the same old story. But you would know all about that, wouldn't you, Major?"

John decided not to take the bait. He stared at the picture again, wondering what it was about McKay that unnerved him on such a personal level. The guy glaring up at him seemed harmless enough, if a little standoffish. None of which explained why just looking at McKay left him with that freshly punched in the gut feeling, or why the idea of McKay in danger tied his stomach up in knots. "I guess we need to watch out for allies and hostiles," he said as a note to self more than anything else.

"Personally, I would start with his staff. They're the only ones with any real reason to want to kill him."

John looked up, frowning, making Everett beam that smug _I've won this round and quite possibly the whole war_ smile.

"You know, something tells me you two will hit it off, or just kill each other." From the gleam in Everett's eyes, it was clear which one _he_ was rooting for. "Whatever you do, Major, do it quietly! And keep McKay on a tight leash!"

Everett dismissed him then with another one of those nose farting sounds. Since he didn't want to lose any more ground, he got out of there as fast as he could.

***

Under the circumstances, the team handled the McKay bombshell about as well as he'd expected, in that Ronon just snarled, "You've got to be kidding me!" Which wasn't a total shock given Ronon's spectacular crush on Elizabeth Weir. Surprisingly, it was Teyla, who seemed to shrug off the Weir months with a philosophical smile, before slipping into her TAC vest and loading up on extra ammunition—a signal that _she_ wasn't happy either.

He kept an eye on both of them on the way to McKay's lab. Even though they weren't blaming him, he still felt like it was his fault they were all in this mess. He needed to make it up to them, and he was planning to, maybe with a nice team day somewhere out in the desert, where he and Ronon could blow shit up to their hearts' content and have Teyla watch them with a tolerant expression.

Outside the lab, however, once they'd all heard what was happening in there, it became clear that they were all going to need a lot more than a desert demolition derby to set things right.

"Okay, I'm pretty sure that's not our guy," John said brightly, hoping to Christ he was right. As a precaution, though, he checked his gun one more time, because if that was McKay they could hear shouting through several inches of Plexiglas, then Everett wasn't paying him enough to go in there.

Ronon snapped, "You're stalling," and promptly pushed open the door to McKay's lab, paying no attention to _his_ denials that: _*No, no, he really wasn't!*_

Inside, the shouting hit extraordinary decibels.

They followed it to a workstation in the far corner, where four terrified looking scientists were cowering beside a smoke-filled piece of equipment while a man, who was undoubtedly Dr. Rodney McKay, pointed at it and screamed insults at them. McKay didn't notice they were there at first, deep as he was in the middle of: " . . . and frankly, at this stage, I would be better off asking an amoeba to do this work. _They_ , at least, have one functioning brain cell!"

But one of the scientists, who was taking the brunt of McKay's invective, and who clearly thought they'd been sent to rescue him, gave them a huge smile before pointing frantically in their direction, causing McKay to turn on them like new prey.

"Who are you people?" McKay stormed up. "And what are you doing in my lab? Please _God_ don't tell me you're lost!"

John bristled a little at the random insult. But before things could degenerate any further, Teyla stepped forward, completely ignoring McKay's furious expression, to handle the situation with a show of diplomatic hardball.

"Dr. McKay, I am Teyla Emmagen." She introduced herself by grabbing the hand McKay was waving in the air and then squeezing it in a way that made McKay wince. "With me are Ronon Dex and Major John Sheppard. We're your new personal security detail."

McKay's eyes swept round all of them before settling on him, and the way they widened all of a sudden brought that twisting, fluttering feeling back to his stomach. What shook him up even more was that the picture in McKay's file hadn't done him any justice. Up close, he thought McKay had _a lot_ going for him with those broad shoulders and those piercing blue eyes. He also couldn't help thinking that he and McKay had a connection going on. Because, after wrenching his hand out of Teyla's grasp, McKay went from looking surprised to a little flushed before _that_ turned into pure, red-faced alarm.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something reassuring like: * _Hey, it's okay! I'm here now and I promise I'll take good care of you_.* Feelings which, for him, were surprising as hell, but which only seemed to grow stronger the more agitated McKay got.

But McKay blurted out: "Oh that’s just great! They gave me 'the Rejects'! I specifically asked not to get 'the Rejects'."

Which threw him right out of that illusion and straight into his first task: protecting McKay from his own personal security detail.

***

The first few days were all about explaining to Ronon that he wasn't allowed to shoot McKay, even if it _was_ just to wing him a little. Ronon sulked a lot about that while Teyla, rather than mediating the way she usually did, chose to spend _her_ time _meditating_ at the back of the group.

When he'd called her on it a few hours in, she'd said, "It's either I cleanse my mind or I will hurt someone!" Which left him in the strange position of 'trouble-shooter' where McKay was concerned.

John didn't mind too much, since he kind of liked hanging out with McKay already. He'd never met anyone that good at deliberately and inadvertently upsetting people, so he was learning lots of new things. Plus, it kept the job interesting in a train wreck sort of way.

***

Once Teyla and Ronon had calmed down a little, John spent the rest of _his_ week establishing boundaries.

McKay behaved like having a personal detail actually meant he had personal gofers. John could almost get how a genius might confuse the two ever since McKay had managed to add 'making coffee' to the course of their day to day duties. Usually, when McKay snapped his fingers, he just gritted his teeth and got McKay the laptop or the scanner or whatever the hell it was McKay wanted. But Ronon flat out refused to play ball, and Teyla was getting fed up with taking McKay's orders; and pretty soon John could see the cracks appearing all over his once solid team.

"Okay, you've got to stop doing that," he told McKay one morning after another one of those finger snaps.

As usual, McKay barely acknowledged his presence. Which was when John realized that liking the guy wasn't making him any easier to deal with.

"Don't push me on this, McKay," he snarled, and when McKay still didn't respond, he yanked McKay's chair away from his desk, making McKay jerk in surprise that he was even there.

He tried not to squirm as McKay looked him over. The whole thing about kind of liking McKay was that it made _him_ want McKay to like him too. Right then, though, with the way McKay kept frowning up at him, he wasn't entirely sure McKay even knew his name.

McKay proceeded to prove him right by saying, "Fine! You with the hair—not you, Conan," after Ronon growled menacingly. "You: other guy! Listen, I'm a very busy man, so will you make yourself useful and just get me the case from Jorgenstern's lab."

"No, I won't!" John drew the line right there because that was too fucking much! "Now, you listen to me! We're here to protect you, not to fetch and carry for you!" And, leaning in, John made sure he got right up in McKay's face as he said, "By the way, for the record, _he's_ Ronon, _she's_ Teyla and _I'm_ John Sheppard. Our names are not Conan, Xena and 'the other guy'; you got that?"

McKay looked a bit chagrined then, and to his credit he mumbled out an apology. Throughout the day, McKay even made an effort to use their real names at least twenty percent of the time. But the damage had already been done. Teyla and Ronon were pissed, so nothing really changed much there; and John didn't think he would ever forgive McKay for _not_ giving him a cool action star nickname to begin with.

***

With McKay now trying to behave, John found running his detail nowhere near as bad as he'd anticipated. In reality, it was just complicated.

McKay came with a bunch of neuroses that needed very specific attention. At the start of week two, he announced, "You'll find my allergies listed in the table of contents," handing them each a printed manual, which had colour-coded tabs for the major physiological groups. "Also, there's a section on *things I'm technically not allergic to, but which I do find extremely irritating*. Naturally, I expect you to memorize everything, and I've emailed you soft-copies in case you lose these pocket books."

The first thing John did after reading the list was to write McKay a proper schedule. It wasn't payback exactly for the nickname oversight, though he was still smarting about that. The truth was: the insane hours McKay worked made it impossible to guard him effectively. They needed something more structured that they could all work to, and for _that_ , McKay needed to go on a schedule. _To do that_ , John pulled together a duty rota, which he then reviewed with Teyla and Ronon, and which he then emailed to McKay along with a bunch of spurious changes to McKay's manual.

Later, watching McKay scream, "What the hell do you call this?" whilst also cutting lines of red pen through his _oh so incredibly wrong changes_ , John couldn't believe how well his decoy had worked. McKay was so annoyed at having his work corrected, he'd barely even mentioned being put on a schedule.

As he sat back to enjoy the fireworks in McKay's eyes, feeling quite tingly inside, something else occurred to him. Dr. Rodney McKay was an impatient, egotistical and surprisingly sensitive man, who hated being wrong and who was just this side of petty.

These were all things he could use to his advantage.

***

He spent the next few weeks studying McKay closely, trying to get inside his head, trying to understand what made McKay tick. Most of the time, _that_ turned out to be coffee. But since over-caffeinating McKay led to problems of a different kind, John concentrated on finding other ways to handle McKay's various quirks.

Once he'd established that the way to McKay's co-operation was through his stomach, he got Teyla and Ronon to help him build an alternative and very secret reference manual, this one solely for their team.

Together, they discovered that strategically placed MREs could get McKay to do almost anything apart from work out. _There_ only infirmary food would do. Which John found even more bizarre than McKay's fondness for military rations. Reading NHL scores tended to take McKay's mind off the _idiots in his lab_ , because hockey was predominantly Canadian and therefore superior to every American sport. Chocolate helped with pretty much every situation, unless it involved Dr. Kavanagh or Dr. Lee, in which case handing McKay a powerbar was akin to handing him some form of projectile weapon. Yet with all their calculated experiments, it was by sheer accident that they discovered that a combination of Jell-O, shoulder massages and Twinkies delivered in a specific order could not only calm McKay down, they could actually make him quite friendly. [**[I]**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/155196)

After that, they all found it a lot easier getting McKay to follow a schedule. And if, in the process, _he_ found it necessary to molest McKay's shoulders far more than was strictly required, he was just going above and beyond the call of duty. Besides, McKay seemed happy enough when he did it, so that was what counted in the long run, more than the weird looks Teyla and Ronon tended to give him.

The only area where they didn't make much headway was with McKay's overall threat assessment, mostly because they hadn't received any threats. Still, Ronon kept track of anyone, who'd even looked at McKay funny, so they had a pretty large pool of potential suspects.

John took McKay aside to discuss it one day after yet another 'hostiles review'. "Look, we've gone through your staff lists several times," he told him, feeling at a loss. "Is there something we're missing? Someone we've overlooked? I know this is difficult, but we'll need to go into every aspect of your life if we want to know who's targeting you."

He got suspicious when McKay suddenly looked a bit shifty.

"You _do_ think there's someone after you, right?"

"Of course there is," McKay snapped. "I'm extremely important. Why wouldn't there be someone after me?" Only now McKay looked incredibly shifty. Which made _him_ ask the question he'd been avoiding all along.

"McKay, what aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing," said McKay, a little too quickly in his opinion.

But since none of them were ready to face the possibility that McKay had a detail just to satisfy his ego, John decided not to press further, telling himself that it never hurt to be extra vigilant, especially when it came to Rodney McKay.

***

In time, John got used to being a spectator in McKay's life, if not a major part of it.

Most of their work involved taking McKay to the labs, then hanging around running drills before forcing McKay to eat something round about what passed for lunchtime in McKay-land. Then came more lab-work and more drills, before finally one or all of them had to drag McKay home usually some time around midnight. Aside from the crazy hours, it was easy work, and no one had tried to kill them yet, but that still didn't solve the problem of just who was supposedly after McKay.

John had a horrible feeling that it was just McKay's paranoia talking or, worse, his ego. Still, he didn't share that theory with Teyla or Ronon, since they were all finally starting to get along and the last thing he needed was a setback.

The truth was, he thought the four of them together kind of made a great team. Because even though McKay was rude, sarcastic and had a tendency to make random people cry, he was also brilliant, laugh out loud funny and surprisingly generous to those he cared about. Even Teyla and Ronon were warming to him, though they tried very hard not to show it. Occasionally, though, it slipped through, and he would catch Teyla rolling her eyes fondly at something McKay said, or Ronon would try to get McKay to work out with him, which unbeknownst to McKay was a _very big thing_.

It also helped that McKay seemed to be warming to them as well.

There were plenty of signs, little things he saw every day, things that made all the difference. Like how concerned McKay got for their personal safety when he told McKay about their team picnic-slash-demolition-derby day in the desert. Of course, coming from McKay, concern sounded a lot like: "You're insane! Why on earth would you do that? Don't you have any idea how hot it gets out there in the middle of the day?" But it was still nice knowing that McKay cared enough to shout at him, and he was grateful for the home-made sun-screen 'protection factor 2000', which McKay whipped up specially for them, even if he did smell like coconuts for a week.

In many ways, he could see that he was on dangerous ground, because their group dynamic didn't feel like a security detail to him any more. He liked being with McKay, and he liked being with Teyla and Ronon; and when the four of them were together, things were even better. It made him feel like he was part of something: something important enough _not_ to screw up. And for the first time in his life, he really started to give a damn, so much so that he couldn't imagine his future without these guys in it.

Then, one day the dynamic shifted dramatically when McKay announced that he was going on a date.

***

"This will not end well," Teyla said ominously outside McKay's lab. It was the third time she'd said it so far.

Ronon responded with a grunt, which could have meant anything at that point.

So, John just gritted his teeth and checked the safety on his gun again. They were all a bit on edge, so he didn't want to make things worse by 'adding his two cents' to the mix. Besides, he had his own reasons for worrying about McKay dating, and he didn't want to let on what _those_ were. Privately, though, he thought they were both over-reacting. Still, he hadn't been overly concerned until Teyla had started hiding extra ammunition up her sleeves.

 _That_ was when he noticed the knives Ronon kept sliding into his hair.

"Oh, come on, it's just a date!" And he leant against the doorframe, playing it super cool. "McKay's a good-looking guy. I'm sure he has been on plenty of dates before. How bad can it be?"

Teyla glared at him like he'd lost his fucking mind. And _now_ John thought, _*Yeah, right, famous last words!*_ because this was McKay they were talking about here. Going out on a date. To a restaurant. With a woman. One, who was probably nowhere near as intelligent as McKay was.

"Oh, crap!" he muttered. "We'll need the taser!"

"Already packed it," Ronon said before waving a pack of deluxe Twinkies in his face. "I brought the big ones in case things get rough and we need a diversion!"

Once again, John thought it was nice to be on a team where they all seemed to get each other so effortlessly.

***

They didn't need the taser in the end, but for a moment during the entrees, it came pretty close. Or at least it would have done, if the three of them hadn't been laughing their asses off and had therefore been spectacularly unable to protect McKay when he said, "Oh, you're calling _that_ a science," to his date, causing the kind of cataclysmic chain reaction, which ultimately brought the date to an end approximately ninety-five seconds later.

"Aren't you supposed to protect me?" McKay yelled afterwards, storming up to their table, dripping everywhere. "That woman attacked me and well, just look at you!" And there was a lot of finger pointing from McKay, which meant he was seriously pissed off.

John really didn't know what to say. Beside him, Teyla kept making these weird snorting sounds, which meant she was trying not to laugh but failing miserably. Then, Ronon gave him some kind of weird shoulder nudge, which apparently meant: _*You're the team lead; you handle this one!*_ So, in his best _serious team leader_ voice, he said, "Look, McKay, I'll take a bullet for you or a knife. _That_ —" he gestured vaguely at McKay's soggy, palm-printed face. "Well, slaps just aren't in the job description."

Teyla snorted again, very loudly this time, and that was it: the three of them broke down with laughter.

It took a while, but eventually John noticed that McKay wasn't laughing with them. In fact, shoulders hunched and mouth slanting down at the corner, McKay looked distinctly unhappy about the situation.

"You okay there, buddy?" John wheezed, getting up and walking over, still wiping his eyes. When he didn't get an answer, he said, "Rodney, come on, we're not laughing at you, I swear!" It was really important to him that McKay understood that. "It's just, somehow you managed to insult her hair, her family and her job all in one sentence. Then, you called her dog a malicious waste of space. Seriously, McKay, _her dog_? What did Fluffy ever do to you?"

McKay responded with a delicate sniff. "I'm more of a cat person."

"Oh, believe me, we get that now!" And John reached for McKay's shoulders then, he couldn't help himself not while McKay still had that sad little look on his face. "You _do_ know she wasn't right for you, right?" John murmured, certain his manly shoulder squeezes would help get that message across.

"Yes, yes, I know!" McKay sighed, leaning into him. "It's just, I won't—oh, never mind!" And McKay seemed to pull away without taking a single step.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Teyla said, "Rodney, don't leave. I know your date did not go as planned, but why don't you join us for dinner instead?"

"Yeah, come eat with us," Ronon insisted, waving McKay toward one of the empty chairs.

McKay looked at both of them suspiciously, as though he were half expecting them to start laughing again. "Well, I _have_ already ordered my steak," he said in the end. "I suppose it would be a shame to waste it, since I'll have to pay for it anyway. So, uh, yes?" And McKay turned to him then, mouth quirking up at the corner. "Yes, okay, why not?"

"Great!" John told him, beaming right back, and he tried his best to ignore the strange melting feeling that was spreading through his chest.

After that, McKay sat down at their table, and John sat down next to him. And even though McKay ended up stealing most of his food, John couldn't remember when he'd last enjoyed a meal so much.

***

Despite his reservations about McKay dating, John started to enjoy those evenings because McKay was just so bad at it. And aside from impromptu team dinners when McKay's dates invariably went south, soon he found that there were other perks, which came from working on McKay's detail.

The jewel in McKay's crown was his research on wormhole physics. "It'll get me my first Nobel," McKay tended to say whenever the topic came up, which was a lot.

John wasn't allowed anywhere near that project since the day he'd accidentally called it a flux capacitor [**[II]**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/155195). But since McKay also liked to invent other cool things that involved nanite technology and advanced energy dispersion, as part of his detail it became their privilege—no, their _job_ —to help him during the final stages of testing.

For Teyla, usually that meant looking for design flaws, while Ronon got to run preliminary field tests.

 _He_ got stuck checking equations once McKay discovered his secret Maths skills after one too many games of 'Prime / not Prime'. He was okay with it for the most part, mostly because he got to spend ridiculous amounts of time hanging out with McKay in the labs. But it wasn't nearly as much fun as what Teyla and Ronon got to do, until he took the initiative to look for wider applications beyond McKay's limited _it'll push the boundaries of science_ point of view.

"Okay, you see how cool that is?" John pointed at the makeshift track on the floor, yet more evidence of his brilliant initiative.

"Yeah!" Ronon crouched down beside him. "How many laps do you think they'll do?"

John shrugged, not really bothered. It was enough that they were trying to out-run each other, because McKay sure as hell hadn't programmed them to do _that_! This was why he loved his job. Even if McKay wouldn't let him name stuff any more, he still loved his job so damn much.

"Sheppard!" McKay yelled all of a sudden from the other side of the lab. "What are you two doing over there? Oh my God, are you racing them again?"

"No," they both replied at once.

"Because they're not toys," insisted McKay, who was _so_ not buying their denials. "They are highly sophisticated mobile analytical telemetric devices designed to gather and transmit data through the most delicate of space-time bridges."

Trying not to look guilty, John strolled back with Ronon to where McKay and Teyla were waiting for them. "Look, I get it, Rodney: they're MATs," and he winked at McKay, just to be extra annoying. "So, what have you got for us now?" he asked, because in his experience, McKay yelling his name across the lab only meant one thing: more tests to run!

"Here—" McKay gave the weird gun-shaped thing he was carrying to Ronon. "Just press the red button here, and then point it over there."

Ronon did exactly what he was told, making the gun-thing shoot a beam of energy, which promptly melted one of Kavanagh's white-boards.

"Whoa!" John took a step back, stunned. Even Teyla, who wasn't fazed by anything, looked suitably impressed. Ronon just looked like he'd fallen in love.

"Can I keep it?" were the next words out of Ronon's mouth.

To which McKay replied: "I don't see why not," before reaching out to recalibrate some settings, spectacularly not noticing the jealous look in his eyes. "Of course, you can't take it out of the lab until we've finished looking at potential applications. Then you can only carry it through the secure levels, because it's incredibly top secret. But, yes, as of now it's yours to—"

"Wait a minute!" John cocked his head to one side, convinced he was having trouble with his hearing. "Did you just give Ronon the ray gun?"

"For the last time, Sheppard, it's a prototype of a highly sophisticated energy conversion wave that disrupts bond resonance at an atomic level!" And for some reason, McKay seemed to think _shouting_ would make the message sink in; in reality that just made it sound even more like a ray gun to him.

"Well, can I get one too?" He tried to make the question sound casual, and not like he was desperate enough to beg.

McKay, now firmly in shouting mode, said, "Hello? _Prototype_? That means there's only one," before stalking off to his workbench, leaving his precious ray gun in Ronon's grabby little hands.

John was absolutely determined not to sulk about it.

It helped that Ronon didn't gloat _much_ , and that Teyla was her usual quiet supportive self. Still, the manly 'not sulking' thing seemed like a good plan. So, he lounged by McKay's bench, where he didn't sulk at all. Then, he followed McKay around the lab, still not sulking. Later that evening, after not moping around all day, he sat next to McKay and didn't look absolutely miserable during another one of their impromptu team dinners.

In the middle of dessert, McKay snapped, "Oh my God! Yes, you can have one! Okay? I'll even make yours sing to you on cold winter nights. Just stop making that face! Seriously, you're worse than my niece!"

And while John had no clue what he'd done, he still chalked that up as a win for manly 'not sulking'.

Teyla said, "Why would anyone need a singing gun?" looking quite baffled about the whole thing.

Apparently, neither of them had an answer for that, hence the strange silence that seemed to drag on for a very long time. Inside, though, John could barely contain his glee that _his_ ray gun was going to be much cooler than Ronon's.

Teyla gave him a pitying look, which meant she knew exactly what he was thinking. Ronon just laughed, which meant he knew it too and didn't care. John didn't give a damn either way. McKay was going to build a ray gun especially for him, and right then that was all that mattered.

***

He never did get that gun in the end. What he got, instead, the following afternoon was a memo summoning the entire team to an urgent meeting with Colonel Everett.

The meeting turned out _not_ to be so urgent, since Everett kept them waiting outside his office for over three hours. Eventually, though, Everett strode out to meet them, looking pissed as hell. He was carrying another one of those dreaded manila files.

"You've got nine lives, haven't you, son?" Everett's voice seethed with anger. "I mean, you just must be the luckiest S.O.B. on post, huh?"

Suddenly, the file hit him in the face, and Everett stood there for a moment watching him fumble with it, looking like he was about to say something else before apparently deciding to just go back into his office and slam the door behind him.

Wondering what the hell had crawled up Everett's ass _this_ time, John opened up the file and started reading. Half-way through it, he walked out of the building, heart in his throat, leaving Teyla and Ronon there without any sort of explanation.

***

McKay left for Cheyenne Mountain in the early evening that same day. John almost didn't get there in time to see him off, although _seeing him off_ actually involved parking at the end of the road with his lights switched off so he could watch McKay load stuff into a black SUV. McKay's new detail looked very competent and 'by the book' with their dark suits and shiny regulation hair. John couldn't see a single 'reject' among them.

He finally stopped tailing them at the intersection three blocks down when he realized he was being slightly stalker-ish and completely insane. But it didn't stop the feelings of betrayal running thick and fast.

He couldn't believe McKay had just got up and left without saying goodbye.

 _*Well, neither did you,*_ he told himself, trying to maintain some objectivity. Still, McKay was the one doing the leaving, not _him_ , and he was pretty sure _that_ trumped whatever farewells he might have neglected to say.

Basically, it just bothered him that McKay was leaving in the first place.

***

The team reacted quite strangely after he broke the news about McKay.

Teyla got that bland look on her face, before she announced that she was going off to meditate. Ronon, meanwhile, went down to the gym, where he kicked the crap out of anyone stupid enough to want to spar with him.

As for _him_? Well, he just felt like someone had ripped his guts out. But he was handling it. They were all handling it in their own way, because they were professionals, who didn't need anyone and who didn't miss anyone and who certainly didn't need to talk about their feelings.

Over the next few days, John was very proud of how they all didn't bring up the fact that McKay had abandoned them. Except, it was always there, lurking in the shadows of their oh-so-polite conversations and in the way they were each very careful never to mention McKay's name.

A week passed by before he realized he was looking for McKay around every corner. Then, it took him several more days to snap himself out of it. McKay was long gone, off to his shiny new job with his shiny new detail. And John knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

It still didn't stop him feeling angry and a little betrayed. And he was really pissed off that McKay hadn't even said goodbye.

***

In the realm of changes, McKay's departure wasn't such a massive disruption to their routine. _He_ still had a detail to run, and his team still had people to protect. But apparently knowing that it was no big deal didn't make it any easier to handle, and the real problem came when they got their next assignment.

They all should have been happy with it. They had Weir back. Weir, who was nice and very easy to handle, and who never ever shouted obscenities at anyone. But Ronon still wasn't smiling, and Teyla kept going off to meditate, and that strange hollow feeling in his gut still wouldn't go away.

Working with Weir felt off, they could all sense it. It was almost like she was too diplomatic for them or something; John wasn't even going to think about the lack of 'Prime / not Prime'. The worst part was that their performance as a team was suffering. They weren't nearly as slick as they used to be, and they were making the kind of pointless mistakes they used to make back when they were all still getting to know each other.

After weeks of this, John decided to call an intervention. He tried to disguise it as a morale-boosting team dinner, but deep down they all knew what it was.

"Okay, we're going to get through this," he said right off the bat. Though at that point, he wasn't sure if he was talking about the meal or life in general. It felt weird sitting down for dinner without first having to rescue McKay from one of his dates. Also, none of them could seem to look at the empty fourth chair at their table. "Come on, guys," he tried again when neither of them said anything. "Hey, look on the bright side! Weir thinks we're doing a great job. That has got to count for something, right?"

Teyla glared at him until he gave up and started playing with his food like the rest of them. And while he was pretty sure the situation couldn't get much worse, he knew something eventually had to give.

***

That _something_ turned out to be the brass at Cheyenne Mountain.

At first, when Everett called him into his office and said, "I must have been born lucky! First, McKay and now you," John got a bit worried. Everett was _honest to God_ smiling at him, and in _his_ experience that was never a good thing.

"Ah, I can see you're confused!" And Everett looked very smug about that.

John decided it was safest not to ask why.

"Well, it seems McKay has been making a huge fuss over at Cheyenne Mountain. Something about his current detail being 'a bunch of Cro-Magnon cave dwelling idiots, who couldn't follow a simple instruction if it was drawn out for them in crayon'." Everett read that last part off a notebook, apparently wanting to get it just right. "Anyway, I happened to mention that you'd done an adequate job of keeping McKay on a leash. And with McKay demanding to have his old team back, it's all just a matter of paperwork now."

Everett settled back in his chair then, still grinning that smug little smile.

"I bet you never saw this day coming, huh? You really thought you'd managed to escape, didn't you? Well, not on my watch, Sheppard. No one gets away with your kind of crap on my watch!"

And since Everett clearly expected him to be distraught at the prospect of reuniting with McKay, John did his best not to blow it by leaping up and whooping for joy. The truth was, his heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe, and that nameless hollow feeling he'd been carrying around suddenly started to fade.

It disappeared entirely once Everett said, "Pack your bags, Major! You and that sorry team of yours are off to Cheyenne Mountain."

***

On the way over there, Ronon became positively chatty for the first time ever. "Idiots!" he snarled; that seemed to be the word of the day. "What did they really expect? They're fucking idiots!"

"I agree with Ronon that this is not a surprising outcome given the particular nature of Rodney's requirements." And whilst Teyla sounded equally unsympathetic, she seemed happy enough. Her eyes were gleaming with a fierce kind of pride.

Ronon still looked like he wanted to make someone pay for what he'd been put through over the past few weeks. "They never should have taken him from us in the first place," he muttered. "And, when they _did_ , _we_ should have gone to get him back."

John made a note to look into Ronon's abandonment issues. Because, sure he'd missed McKay, and yes, occasionally, he might have had thoughts about sneaking into Cheyenne Mountain to break McKay out. But _this_ was not fucking healthy!

"You _do_ know he's going to be mad as hell, don't you?" Ronon grinned at him all of a sudden, looking all kinds of happy.

"Yeah." John smiled; he could hardly wait either.

***

The civilian liaison at Cheyenne Mountain greeted them with a heartfelt: "Oh, thank God, you're here!" The woman didn't give them any time to ask questions, she just made them sign several documents and then kept herding them through various different levels of security.

On the way to McKay's lab, John counted several bystanders, who gave them looks, which ranged from relief to _you'd better fucking fix this right now_. And when they finally saw McKay, John understood the urgency.

They arrived just in time to catch the tail end of: ". . . calling you a moron would be an insult to all morons. I think I might actually have to invent a new scale for your brand of stupidity—" which McKay was yelling at some hapless guy, who was blatantly cowering in the corner whilst also trying to look like he was in control of the situation.

Yep, John thought, definitely a meltdown! He didn't need to say anything to Teyla or Ronon; they all knew the drill now by heart.

John stepped up first. "Jesus, McKay, don't you ever to stop to breathe?" And he made sure he said it in a bored sounding tone, knowing that would just piss McKay off more.

Sure enough, McKay whirled round, looking simultaneously shocked, angry and very happy to see them. "There you are," he wheezed, taking in long gulping breaths now that it was apparently okay to do so without blunting the edge of his invective. "Oh my God, what took you so long? These idiots have been trying to kill me for weeks! _Weeks_!"

McKay turned back to 'hapless guy' and his team, as though the mere mention of it had reminded him of their incompetence. Then, McKay started ranting all over again, this time at full tilt.

Hapless guy sent him a pleading look over McKay's shoulder.

John responded with a mild shrug. He still hadn't forgiven these guys for breaking up his team, and it made him feel much better knowing that McKay was making them suffer. Besides, McKay on a roll was a thing of beauty, and it would have been criminal to stop _that_. So he folded his arms, watching with a kind of malicious glee as McKay tore several new strips off his soon to be ex-security detail.

After another minute, Ronon stepped forward; he had two Twinkies unwrapped and ready to go.

But John mouthed, 'Not yet,' wanting to give McKay a bit more time. He could tell from the set of McKay's shoulders that McKay really wasn't angry any more. Basically, McKay was just working off some steam, and maybe, just maybe showing off a little just for them.

That McKay had missed them enough to behave this way made him feel ten feet tall and happy as hell.

His team was back together. Beside him, Ronon and Teyla were beaming, both of them having already figured out what McKay was up to. And when McKay had apparently decided that he'd done enough damage, he stalked up to each of them in turn, taking first the Twinkie then the Jell-O pudding cup and then the platonic squeezes to the shoulder, as though they were his fucking due for having put up with this shit! Then, he went back to his desk and calmly got back to work.

 _That_ was when John realized that he was more than a little in love with Rodney McKay.

***

End of Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

On those rare occasions when he'd thought about love, he'd always imagined moments of euphoria laced with the uncontrollable urge to buy fluffy toys and lots of candy. In reality, McKay made the whole thing feel like he was strapped to a roller coaster in a haunted house with no idea how many clowns were round each corner. 

He played it cool while nearly every muscle in his body seized up. Which also meant having to ignore the way Teyla and Ronon were staring at him, wondering no doubt why he'd gone so still. But as he stood there with his heart pounding and his throat so tight he could scarcely breathe, slowly it dawned on him that if he kept standing in the middle of McKay's lab like a statue, people would think that was weird. 

To prevent that, he made himself saunter over to McKay's desk and then slouched there, every inch 'Major Casual' and supremely cool. Even though he could barely look McKay in the eye, he felt confident that he could still do his job like the professional he knew he was. He wanted people to see that when they looked at him—that _he_ was just a guy, who was happy to see another guy after spending several weeks apart; it was perfectly natural to have sweaty palms and a little shortness of breath. And he couldn't help thinking that his moves were successful, because after sparing him a glance, McKay began to huff as well: more proof of his 'two guys happy to see each other' theory. 

Moments later, however, once McKay opened his mouth, he realized he had a lot more work to put into their _bros side-reunion_. 

"Sheppard, do you plan on doing anything useful today?" 

"Maybe, I guess," John replied in his best nonchalant voice. After that, he just froze with horror, because the whole thing had come out sounding like a sixteen-year-old girl had hijacked his vocal chords. 

"Please tell me that was a joke!" McKay gaped at him, looking equally horrified. 

John didn't know what to say. He realized he'd already blown his cool fly-boy cover, and that his manly throat-clearing probably wasn't doing much to convince McKay of his sanity. But it was the only thing he had right then. Somehow, being near McKay was screwing with his mind, making him act weirdly. Or, he thought with growing horror, maybe he'd been behaving this way the whole time and just hadn't noticed. And the idea that he might have inadvertently been acting like a lovesick fool all this time made him so uneasy he started squirming and rubbing the back of his neck. 

He had no idea how long he stood there fidgeting before McKay said: "What the hell is the matter with you?" 

"Nothing," John insisted, still a little high-pitched. 

"Then, why are you—" McKay waved vaguely in his direction, which _he_ translated to mean * _standing there doing nothing_ * "—when you could be . . ." and this time when McKay trailed off, it was with several * _playing with the exciting stuff I made_ * hand gestures. After which came the * _instead of being an idiot_ * hand wave usually only seen in the vicinity of Kavanagh, and which John thought was a bit uncalled for. 

He got a little annoyed after the flurry of * _oh God, they turned you into an idiot, didn't they?_ * finger-clicks, because that was low. Even for McKay, that was pretty goddamn low. By the time McKay moved on to the * _I don't believe this! I wasn't gone that long; how the hell did this happen?_ * gestures, John decided that was enough. 

"Okay, no more hand talking," he interrupted McKay mid wave. "And, for the record, I was thinking! If that's okay with you?" Leaning over, he made sure he pointed a finger right at McKay's forehead, just to get his own back, before adding: "You remember what thinking is, don't you, McKay? It's that thing most people do before they open their mouths to speak." 

"Well, how was I supposed to know you weren't broken?" yelled McKay, somewhere between irritated and relieved. 

And because that hit a bit too close to home, John was very careful not to flinch. The last thing he wanted was for McKay to figure out what was wrong with him, or that anything was even wrong. So, he settled into another grade-A slouch and drawled, "Come on, Rodney, you know you're the only one who's smart enough to break me." 

All his attempts to play it cool failed after that. 

McKay's face suddenly went bright red. So, naturally, he lost several seconds of higher brain function to the sight of McKay so adorably flustered. Then, just as his brain looked like it was kicking back into gear, McKay beamed out a smile that got to him in ways he wasn't prepared for. 

It made his heart flutter and his throat tighten up all over again. God help him, it made him want things, stupid things that were impossible and crazy, but which somehow seemed achievable given the fondness he could see under McKay's exasperation. So, he stayed there daydreaming about tracing the curve of that smile with his fingertips, long after McKay had got back to work, long after it was sensible for anyone to stare stupidly at McKay, until something very heavy stamped on his foot. 

" _Sonofab_ —" He jerked away, whirling round and hopping mad, making Ronon raise both eyebrows. "What the fuck did you do that for?" 

"You're kidding, right?" Ronon loomed over him like he was getting ready to do it again. 

As a precaution, John hopped a few steps back, fists up in the air. 

Before things could get out of hand, Teyla stepped in to defuse the situation by steering him quickly away from McKay's desk. "Perhaps you should see to our assignments, John," and whilst she made it sound like a suggestion, it blatantly was not. "We know so little about this base or its people. I'm sure there is much to prepare, if we are to provide McKay with the protection he requires." 

Since she had a valid point, he decided to go with her on that. He still tried to dismiss his hopping with a casual: "You know what? Fine!" even though what he really wanted was to wipe the smirk off Ronon's face. But a couple of things stopped him going back, the first of which was that he didn't need _two_ bruised feet, and secondly because Ronon was right. Much as it pained him to admit it, Ronon was absolutely right: he _had_ lost it back there. No amount of denial could hide that. 

On that note, he made his way out of the lab, swallowing his pride and telling himself to get his shit together before he slipped up again. 

***

The way forward, he decided, was to handle 'being in love' the way he handled any emotional entanglement he didn't see coming: by compartmentalizing the hell out of it and refusing to acknowledge the panic gripping in his chest. 

So, he had feelings for McKay, feelings that had apparently been building for some time. And once he had a bit more privacy, he was planning to give that epiphany the sort of freak out it deserved. Until then, he had a job to do— _including_ ensuring no one ever suspected that he had a thing for his subject. 

***

He made it through base orientation by sheer force of will. During the day, he shook a lot of hands, and signed a lot of forms, then had a completely different kind of freak out when he learned about the Stargate, the Ancients and the type of shit McKay was into. Yet, despite several attempts to push his feelings aside, they were always there, haunting every step he took. 

The problem was he didn't want to pretend they didn't exist. What he really wanted was to ask McKay out on a date. Or, maybe, to just hang out, somewhere where they could both relax and have a few beers, then see where things went from there. But while he wanted to find out if McKay felt the same way, he knew it was far too dangerous. McKay had several eyes on him, and _his_ career was still on probation; and he was going to have a hard enough time concentrating on doing his job now that McKay was such a distraction. 

The smart thing, he knew, would be to back off for a while, until he had a better grip on things. So, factoring in all these variables, he came up with the sort of protection rota that would let him keep his distance from McKay without looking like he was trying to avoid him. 

When he took it to Teyla and Ronon, both of them looked at him like he'd lost his mind. But he was still convinced this plan would work, right up until he met the base CO: General Jack O'Neill. 

*** 

The rumour he'd heard was that the General was laid back. 

O'Neill, however, chose to eye him with barely concealed consternation from the moment he walked in—something that did not bode well, in his experience. Nor did the bulging manila file, which O'Neill pulled seemingly out of thin air to place on the desk in front of him. 

He got the impression that things were about to get ugly. People had only ever reacted one way after reading his 'greatest hits'; he didn't expect O'Neill to be any different. He certainly didn't expect any sort of welcome from that point. Which was how O'Neill managed to surprise him by waving him to a seat with a genial: 

"Of course, _you're_ McKay's new test pilot!" 

"Test pilot?" He pulled up short, not sure if this was some kind of a joke. "Sir, I understood I was grounded." 

"Yes, Major, that's correct. You _are_ grounded!" After which, O'Neill proceeded to thumb through his file and barely made him wait at all before adding: "Except, you're not." 

Wondering what the hell was going on, John sat down and tried not to seem too thrown by the blatant lack of hostility. "How exactly will that work?" he asked cautiously. 

"Details, details," O'Neill responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Apparently you're vital to some Ancient doo-hickey that McKay's working on. Since only your team can test it properly, it has to be you, because you're special and McKay needs you and yadda, yadda, blah, blah. The important thing is that McKay insisted." 

"He insisted?" 

"Yes. Very loudly too." And O'Neill did not look happy about that. "You wouldn't happen to know how to stop him doing that, would you?" 

"No, sir!" John denied that at once, hoping to Christ he looked sincere because, inside, he was pumping his fist with glee. McKay was officially the best thing that had ever happened to him; and, _holy shit_ , this meant he got to fly again! He was going to fly top-secret planes designed specially by McKay. 

"Well, I can see why the Doc likes _you_ ," and the dry tone made him realize O'Neill hadn't bought his act. Before he could do any damage control, though, O'Neill muttered, "Probably means you're just as crazy as he is. But, hey, lots of crazy people around here!" 

Which completely blindsided him, because while those words weren't particularly warm and fuzzy, they still didn't add up to the 'fuck you' speech that COs normally gave him. He kept waiting for it to come, not sure what the hell to make of this guy. But as O'Neill kept flicking through his record, giving off that journeyman air as opposed to General Hard Ass, something told him he was being played. He didn't quite get how much until O'Neill sat back all of a sudden to regard him with the smile of someone, who ate Goa'uld System Lords for breakfast. 

"Okay, Sheppard, let's skip the rest of 'the talk', shall we? I'm pretty sure you've heard it all before, huh?" 

John couldn't see the point in pretending otherwise. 

"Good! So, we know where we stand!" Then, O'Neill promptly dismissed him without giving him a chance to explain that _actually, he had no clue where they stood at all_! 

On the way out, he heard O'Neill say, "Don't do anything _I_ wouldn't do!" Which didn't exactly clarify the situation. In fact, the only thing clear to him at that point was that O'Neill had effectively destroyed any hope of him keeping his distance from McKay. 

*** 

With his plan thwarted, John made a special effort to act like a normal person when the team came back together. 

The good thing was McKay seemed marginally happier with the lab staff he had at Cheyenne Mountain. "They're not complete idiots," McKay announced as he gave them the full tour. "Two are almost competent, and that Slinky guy hasn't tried to kill me yet. But you should probably watch him. I think he's hiding something." 

The bad thing was McKay hadn't lost his talent for screwing up people's names, something _Zelenka_ took great pains to point out in a furious stream of Czech. 

Beyond those teething problems, John didn't find Cheyenne Mountain all that different from Area 51. The labs had the usual tech-boards and equipment, so nothing much changed there. And with McKay in charge terrorizing everyone around him, he and Teyla had to run the usual interference while Ronon gathered Intel on potential threats. 

The only thing that seemed a little odd was the complete and utter absence of anything that could have passed for work on an aerial prototype. From his conversation with O'Neill, he'd got the sense that McKay had something ready for him to test. Yet, McKay was surprisingly cagey on that topic, and none of the other scientists had heard anything either; and pretty soon, John couldn't take the suspense any longer. 

He cornered McKay about it one afternoon after McKay assigned him yet another set of numbers to run. Teyla and Ronon were already working on their project, which McKay kept insisting was _not_ a lightsaber. So, he wanted to get started on what he knew would be _his_ even cooler project. 

That was when he discovered the real downside of working for irascible geniuses, who were prone to hyperbole whenever it suited them. 

***

"So, basically, you lied," he said once the full extent of McKay's scheming became clear. 

"I most certainly did not," was the immediate response. "Project Gateship is an incredibly important part of the Stargate programme. In a few years, we'll have a prototype for a fleet of ships that SG-teams can use." 

"A few _years_?" John staggered, refusing to accept he was whining no matter what McKay's eyebrows suggested. "What happened to me being critical to your research? What happened to you needing a test pilot now?" 

McKay looked a little ashamed then, and actually had the decency to admit: "Okay, I may have exaggerated that part." But he moved very quickly on to: "In my defence, you were being wasted at Area-51. And it's not like I haven't found an alien spaceship _here_ for you to look at," as though that somehow excused the incredible lies he'd told. 

John opened his mouth to point that out, but McKay barrelled on with: "Did I mention it's one of the Ancient artefacts?" Which derailed him slightly, because only a handful of people had clearance to go near that stuff. Which meant McKay had to have done a lot of 'insisting' to get him access. 

He was still wondering what to make of that when McKay added, "As far as 'testing' it goes," putting emphasis around the word, "if you can tell me why they designed their spacecraft the way they did, it could give us a real shot at reverse engineering some of their technology. I mean, that's still pretty cool, right?" 

John supposed he had to concede that much. He didn't want to seem like an ungrateful asshole when McKay had clearly gone to a lot of trouble on his behalf. But the truth was, he felt kind of let down. As much as he liked having the whole team back together, the prospect of flying again had really got to him. For a moment there, he'd actually thought he'd caught a break. Now, though, from what McKay was telling him, it was clear that him flying again wasn't going to happen any time soon. 

"So, are you in?" McKay sounded almost tentative. 

"Yeah!" John sighed, briefly closing his eyes against the bitter taste of disappointment. 

He tried not to let it get to him as he followed McKay out of the room, trying to focus instead on the chance to see some Ancient technology. That, at least, was something, he told himself firmly. Probably more than he deserved, and definitely more than most people ever got to see. If nothing else, he felt like he owed it to McKay to do a better job of appreciating the things that McKay did for him. And he was going to, starting right then with the ship that they were on their way to see. 

***

In the cargo bay, however, once they reached what McKay assured him would be the sleek alien fighter jet of his dreams, it became clear that in addition to actively lying to him, McKay was downright delusional. 

John pointed at the Ancient spacecraft, completely lost for words. He'd been pointing at it ever since McKay's dramatic unveil. Only, McKay didn't seem to notice anything was wrong, and just kept beaming at him expectantly, listing off what he thought were interesting facts about the ship's pedigree—

> "It's at least ten thousand years old!"

—its flight history—

> "We haven't managed to switch it on yet. I don't think it runs on any power source we've got."

—and a ream of other statistics that didn't improve the situation.

Eventually, John ground out, "You've got to be kidding me," pointing at the boxy-looking hunk of metal again. He wasn't trying to be a diva or anything, but it was important to him that McKay got what was wrong with this picture. "Rodney," he drew his name out slowly, "that's not a sleek alien fighter jet. It's a beat up space Volvo!" 

McKay responded with a sound of such outrage, he got the feeling that he'd finally made his point. Then, to hammer that point home, he sauntered over to the port side of the craft, refusing to acknowledge McKay's assertion that: "The craft was built by aliens, it flew at some point, and the scorch marks on its hull are clear evidence of a fight. Hence 'alien fighter jet' _is_ the correct term." 

Up close, the ship didn't look any less like the alien cousin of a 1960s hippie van, one that had seen far better days. In fact, the closer he got, the more convinced he was that McKay was genuinely fucking with him. "Okay, let me get this straight," he pointed at the ship one more time, "do you want me to inventory this thing, or just paint some fucking flowers on it?" 

McKay, now thoroughly enraged, yelled: "Don't touch anything!" 

Which pretty much guaranteed that he was going to grope the hell out of that thing. And even though he knew it was petty and just this side of childish, he reached out and said, "Jesus, would you lighten up! What do you think is going to happen if I touch it?" 

No one was more surprised than he was when that ten thousand year old hunk of metal lit up under his hands. 

***

McKay never quite forgave him for activating the ship before _he'd_ figured out how to do it. 

As a result, his penance involved submitting to a battery of tests, which McKay assured him were key to the future of mankind, but which he suspected were actually McKay's way of proving that _McKay_ was still the smart one. He didn't mind much once the SGC discovered he had some special gene, which was critical to McKay's research. But when that gene proved vital to activating every Ancient artefact on base, McKay went on an absolute rampage of smugness, and took him along for the ride. 

"Ha! See? I was right about Sheppard. Didn't I say we needed Sheppard here?" McKay liked to tell anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. For everyone else, there were memos which McKay tended to send out in triplicate—particularly to any member of the brass, who was foolish enough to try to avoid him. 

Since that person almost always wound up being General O'Neill, John couldn't tell if McKay was enhancing his career or helping him kiss it goodbye, especially once O'Neill started sending _him_ memos that read: 'For the love of God, Sheppard, please make him stop!' But aside from the added paperwork, John kind of liked letting McKay parade him around like the smug bastard McKay was. He wasn't used to glowing feedback, so it made him feel warm inside whenever McKay bragged about him to other people. Also, watching McKay rub people's faces in his genius was just added entertainment value. 

The rest of the time, when he wasn't enabling McKay's bad habits, he worked alongside him, running diagnostics on the Ancient craft. 

Most of their work involved deciding what to call things, because McKay seemed to think that being chief science officer meant he got the final say on everything. John didn't want there to be any confusion about who was really in charge, so he made it a point to clarify the situation by constantly disagreeing with every name McKay suggested. It got him some spectacular rants, which in turn meant he got front row seats at the _flushed, finger-pointing and eyes flashing_ McKay show. But the real result was the complete and utter confirmation of how truly fucked he was where McKay was concerned. 

Every time he sat down in that small cockpit, he bickered with McKay and tried not to notice how good McKay smelt, or how much he wanted to push him up against the bulkhead and kiss him for hours. He found it harder each day not to touch him, not to let his fingers trace the curve of McKay's neck, because McKay seemed to have no concept of personal space whatsoever and liked to bend so close that there was practically no daylight between them. Yet, as hard as it was, he never once slipped up, until the day he finally got to take the Ancient craft out for a test drive. 

***

"I still think this is a bad idea," McKay complained over the Comms. 

"Which is why you're staying behind at Stargate Command," John told him lightly. The whole point of _him_ going up alone was to keep McKay safe, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to know how nervous he was. Right then, though, with McKay on the verge of panic, he couldn't tell if McKay didn't get that command and control were listening or whether he just didn't care. 

Sure enough, McKay confirmed it was the latter by saying, "Okay, don't do anything stupid today," once their pre-flight checks were complete. "Also, try not to fly like a complete moron when you're up there. And, dear God, do you even have a seat-belt?" 

Privately, John thought it was a little late for that, since he was about to go up in a ten thousand-year-old spacecraft, which they had only a vague idea of what it could do. Still, it was nice knowing that McKay worried about his safety, despite the aspersions cast on his intelligence. 

After the SGC's go-ahead to launch, he took the ship up slowly into the atmosphere, taking her measure in steady increments. And even though they all had a lot riding on this trip, just getting to fly again made something deep inside him settle at last. 

Once he reached outer space, that sense of peace morphed into pure, unbridled delight. And it stayed with him through a series of manoeuvres, which he called 'shaking off the cobwebs' and which McKay screamed were reckless. There was one weird moment when he discovered the cloaking mechanism, and when McKay subsequently went nuts because he'd apparently disappeared off the radar. After that, it was smooth flying all the way on his impromptu joyride to the moon. 

By the time he got back to base, McKay was waiting for him in the hangar, absolutely livid. 

The yelling started almost as soon as he opened the bulkhead door. 

"What did I tell you?" McKay stormed up. "Didn't I tell you not to do anything stupid? You are the most infuriating man on this planet. Do you hear me, Sheppard?" 

John nodded, pretty sure the entire base had heard McKay. 

"And that last stunt you pulled: what the hell were you thinking? _Were_ you even thinking?" 

In all honesty, John didn't know how to describe what had been going on in his head at the time. Everything about the experience had been so exhilarating, he was finding it hard _now_ not to bounce on his heels with excitement. He'd just flown through outer space! All thanks to McKay! And as if that weren't enough, McKay kept making his day better by standing right there in front of him, pointing fingers and hurling out the sort of insults that really only showed how much McKay cared. 

Before he could stop himself, he yanked McKay into a hug. And, ignoring the outraged squawk McKay made, he pressed his face into McKay's throat and just held on, shaking, because _this_ was everything he wanted out of life: the chance to fly again, and the man he loved right there in his arms. 

He felt incredibly overwhelmed, all of a sudden. There was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn't get the words past the lump in his throat. 

McKay, for once, seemed to understand, and even gave him a few awkward back-pats before forcibly extricating himself after he showed no signs of letting go. "I still think you're infuriating," McKay told him, visibly disgruntled by the whole experience. 

John chose to take that as the compliment it so clearly was. 

***

In the aftermath, getting Project Gateship off the ground opened several doors for him and the team. They all got clearance to train with gate teams, which Teyla and Ronon were ridiculously happy about, and with the strongest known expression of the ATA gene, he was pretty much the 'go to' guy for anything Ancient on base. 

It still took him by surprise when people started coming to him for a different kind of help. Having zero experience with scientist-run covert ops, he didn't recognize their code-words, and since the first guy, who approached him for help, did it when he was in the showers, he spent most of that encounter convinced he was being cruised [**[III]**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/155210). But the next few guys were smart enough to tell him that they wanted _their_ research on McKay's radar. And pretty soon he had so many people coming to him for help, there was almost too many for him to handle. 

Quickly, though, and with his usual flair for organization, he established a set of ground rules to manage his involvement. 

He only intervened if the project in question wouldn't undermine McKay in some way. Once that was settled, four comic books bought a basic show of interest on his part, since _that_ was always enough to make McKay find out _why_. The price went up to eight if he had to do any heavy lifting, like reading or discussing actual topics. 

He was willing to take gadgets instead, depending, of course, on how cool the gadget was. Although, that brought with it certain problems of its own, since McKay got really weird whenever _he_ got toys from other scientists. Still, he managed to amass a lot of cool stuff in virtually no time at all. And in the spirit of team bonding, he decided to cut Teyla and Ronon in on the action, because he was just that kind of guy. 

It pissed him off _slightly_ to learn that they'd been running their own racket for months already, possibly as far back as Nevada. What really got to him was that Ronon, being Ronon, just had to rub it in. 

"I thought you knew," Ronon wheezed, doing that pointing and laughing thing John hated so much. "Seriously, how did you not know that running McKay could get you stuff?" And for some inexplicable reason, his frown of confusion seemed to set Ronon off again. 

John did _not_ sulk for days—something Ronon, again, seemed to find incredibly funny.

In the end, Teyla took pity on him after she apparently decided that they'd both gone on for long enough. They were all working in the labs one afternoon when she sat him down next to Ronon and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You do know Ronon and I only get the small problems," she murmured, giving him some time to digest what she was saying. "People come to you when they need something big from Rodney. Perhaps that is why you didn't see much action till now?" 

"You know, I thought that was why," John promptly told her, rustling up his first real smile in days. He liked the idea that people saw him as the 'big gun', and since he spent the most time with McKay, it made sense that he would have the most influence. 

Ronon snorted incredulously, making Teyla send him a quelling look. And even though Ronon wasn't buying either of their explanations, John felt a hell of a lot better. 

***

Despite Teyla's assurance, John had his doubts that he was McKay's favourite, especially after McKay went back to torturing him by dating women, who were nothing like him. Most of those dates were with 'soft' scientists; all of them ended disastrously. But he still found it stressful watching McKay with other people, and his way of dealing with that was to torture himself by stealth dating McKay once McKay's actual dates were over. [**[IV]**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/155211)

Every time McKay crashed and burned, he made sure he was there to pick up the pieces. Usually, all that involved was sitting McKay down with the team, handing him a beer, and then listening to McKay moan about his love life. From time to time, if the opportunity arose, he liked to drop subtle hints that there were other, more masculine fish in the sea. Otherwise, the support he tended to give was more of the strong-silent-bro variety. 

Sometimes, though, when the fear that McKay would fall for someone else overwhelmed him, he wound up offering McKay the sort of fucked up dating advice that made everyone look at him sideways. Whenever _that_ happened, Teyla tended to make cryptic comments like: "Only a lame crow does not fly straight," before staring at him meaningfully. John always liked to think that it was her way of being supportive, since he never had a fucking clue what she meant, and it was better than being dragged down to the gym for one of her supposedly enlightening stick beatings. 

But aside from those rare slips, he had the jealousy under control. And as the weeks wore on, he settled into the routine. McKay stuck to his abysmal dating record, while he stuck to stealth dating McKay. And he clung to the knowledge that there was still time for him to make a real move later—maybe after his two year probation was up, or maybe once he'd figured out if McKay even liked guys that way. 

Then, one ordinary evening, Katie Brown walked into McKay's life, and John saw his whole world turn upside down. 

***

Katie wasn't the problem so much as how McKay behaved when he was around her. McKay didn't dismiss what Katie had to say. He was borderline attentive, courteous almost; and on the rare occasions when _obnoxious-McKay_ made an appearance, Katie didn't seem to mind. She actually seemed to find that side of McKay intriguing. Once, she even smiled during one of his rants. 

John didn't know what to do. He'd been relying on McKay's unique brand of charm to scare people away. It never occurred to him that someone else might find the raw unvarnished McKay as compelling as he found him! 

He didn't panic exactly when their meal didn't end in disaster. No, he saved _that_ for their subsequent date, as well as the succession of follow up dinners and craft fair visits, which somehow translated into McKay seeing Katie on a semi-regular basis. 

What frightened him the most was that McKay seemed to genuinely like her as a person. "She has a great sense of humour," he took to gushing whenever they were working together. "Have you ever met a woman who's that funny, and smart, and pretty?" 

"No," John typically ground out. Because, really, he hadn't! Still, his less than welcoming attitude never deterred McKay from raving about his almost girlfriend. Even bringing up her line of work couldn't put a dent in his enthusiasm. 

"Maybe the world needs a few botanists," McKay admitted one day, after all the not so subtle needling he'd been doing. "Of course, you're absolutely right: it's not a real science. But they have done some valuable research, especially Katie. So, we should probably look at that, in case there's something worthwhile for us to use." 

By that point, John had a feeling it was McKay's dick talking instead of his brain. Still, he changed topics very quickly and decided to keep his comments about botany to a minimum, since the last thing he wanted to do was spend more time with Katie Brown. 

It didn't make any difference. 

From then on, McKay mentioned Katie at the slightest provocation. Worse, he started bringing her to things _they_ used to do by themselves, like lunch, and coffee, and random trips to the grocery store. Whenever she came along, McKay seemed almost happy; and every time McKay smiled that dopey little grin at her, John felt like his heart was climbing into his throat. 

Things nearly came to a head when McKay suggested inviting Katie to one of Ronon's Sunday barbecues, because those get-togethers were team only, and therefore sacred, and John was damned if he was going to let one of McKay's almost girlfriends cross _that_ line. But even though he put a stop to that at once, the news sent his normal state of panic spiralling out of control. Because, _this_ was McKay signalling that he was ready to move into serious relationship territory. And John couldn't accept that he was losing the man he loved to someone else before he'd even had a chance. 

He was saved from taking drastic measures when, out of the blue, Katie ended the relationship. Neither McKay nor Katie would tell him why, and frankly _he_ was too relieved to push. Yet, that sense of anxiety stayed with him long after the spectre of Katie Brown had faded from their lives, because he couldn't shake the feeling that the tide had turned somehow. 

***

He was right: once turned, the tide was almost unstoppable. 

All of a sudden, McKay got very good at dating. He seemed to put that big brain to work, and with it he went from berating his dates to listening to them instead. They, in turn, started broadcasting the sort of blatant _'oh, you are so getting some later'_ signals, which lit the sky up for miles. 

Oddly enough, McKay never seemed to notice the last part. Which was about the only thing keeping _him_ from going completely insane. But it didn't stop him worrying that he was running out of time, or that someone was going to steal McKay away from him. 

Night after night, watching more women hit on McKay, he couldn't help feeling like it was _Katie Brown waiting to happen_ all over again. And after weeks of this, he went into a hyper state of vigilance that had nothing to do with cock-blocking, but was all about protecting McKay from unwanted female attention, whether McKay wanted the attention or not. 

***

In the middle of dinner one evening, he had an epiphany about how to take that protection to the next level. 

"We should do more detailed background checks," he said from where he was surreptitiously eyeing McKay's latest blonde—a geophysicist called Norina, who'd apparently done gymnastics in high school. On the surface of it, she seemed harmless, if a little flirtatious. But that didn't explain why everything about her had him on edge. 

It took some time, but eventually he noticed Teyla eyeing _him_ from across their table. "What?" he sat up, trying not to seem defensive. 

Even though she hadn't said anything, he got the impression, for some reason, that she was very disappointed in him. Why, though, he didn't have a clue! 

"Look, I'm just saying it can't hurt to be too careful." Then, he folded both arms across his chest to show just how rational he was being about the situation. "I think we can all agree that it's too soon after Katie for McKay to start something serious. The last thing anyone wants is him ending up in a rebound relationship with some psycho from hell. Right?" 

Teyla gave him another one of those looks, to which he shrugged before choosing to ignore her in favour of watching the action at McKay's booth. 

He noticed that Norina had moved several inches closer to McKay while he'd been distracted. Now, she had her head tipped to one side, and she was smiling at something McKay was saying, idly twirling a lock of her hair around one finger. He got a bit concerned when she arched in a way that pushed her cleavage right under McKay's nose, and when McKay suddenly seemed to lose all manual dexterity. But the grip Teyla had on his forearm was rather tight, making it clear that he had no real reason to go over there. 

*Yet*, he told himself, keeping a close eye on Norina in case _that_ changed. 

By the end of the evening, he'd counted at least thirty incursions past the safe distance boundary for McKay's personal protection, each one propped up by an excuse more flimsy than the last. But he'd stayed frosty, same as Ronon, and same as Teyla. They were all professionals here, who gave the appropriate level of response to any situation no matter how obvious it was that there was something seriously off about this woman. 

On their way out of the restaurant, he made sure he put Ronon on point with Teyla bringing up the rear, while he took up a position that flanked McKay from potential attack. A position which, by sheer coincidence, just happened to put him between McKay and Norina. Only, somehow, as they went round the corner, Norina managed to slip past him. And in a matter of seconds, she had herself wrapped around McKay like some sort of curvy blonde octopus, who was doing her best to locate McKay's tonsils using her tongue. 

Years of threat response training kicked in. 

Before her tongue could do any serious damage, he had McKay extracted from her clutches, then had the team speeding away in their SUV, with Norina abandoned on the sidewalk and McKay staring back at her through the rear window. 

"What just happened?" McKay shrieked, still looking over his shoulder. "Is everyone okay? Sheppard? _Sheppard_ , are you— _Jesus Christ_ , did someone try to kill us?" 

Since, technically, the answer to that was 'no', John decided to ignore that question. "Just keep driving," he barked at Ronon instead. And even he realised that wouldn't cut it for long, but he was spectacularly not ready to come up with an excuse right then. Not when his heart was still pounding from seeing Norina pounce on McKay. 

He couldn't believe how badly he'd underestimated the situation. And for the rest of the journey, he stared resolutely out of the window, refusing to dignify any of the weird looks he was getting with a response. 

***

The minute they got back to base, John took a long hard look at their security protocols. And because the first line of defence was a good offence, he pulled Teyla and Ronon into an emergency meeting to ask them how one tiny ex-gymnast had been able to break their perimeter to get within touching distance of their subject. 

Ronon replied with low-pitched growls, while Teyla sat there with a frighteningly bland expression. But the important thing he managed to get from that meeting was their agreement on a new set of protocols designed to protect McKay to the standard he deserved. 

Over the next few days, John was quite pleased with how positively they all responded to this tougher regime of security. In fact, the only dissenters he found were McKay's dates, who came under far more scrutiny, and who weren't exactly thrilled at the paperwork required before they could even make it to the dinner table. 

Since this wasn't doing McKay any favours with the ladies, _he_ wasn't happy either; and he tended to bring that up during the emergency meetings _he_ liked to call whenever one of his dates cancelled on him. Which started to happen a lot. 

On those evenings, John liked to assure McKay that it was one of the downsides of having excellent security. But in the moments afterwards, when it was just him and McKay at what was _their_ table in the mess hall, with McKay stealing his dessert and complaining about his three day background check rules, John couldn't pretend to regret the hard-ass line he was taking, even if it was pissing McKay off. 

***

The shit really hit the fan with Miko Kusanagi, because Miko was a Japanese temptress, who was totally in awe of McKay's genius and wasn't afraid to show it. She seemed to hide her seductive guile behind shy smiles and a general inability to look McKay in the eye. But John had numerous background checks on her, so this time he went in ready. 

Their date was another exercise in torture for him. 

It started at dinner when Miko smiled at McKay, and McKay smiled back. This somehow seemed to spur Miko to new levels of boldness. She laid a hand on McKay's forearm. McKay didn't automatically shake it off. 

John gritted his teeth and broke into a sweat. From the corner of his eye, he could see Teyla watching him, and he knew he was giving himself away. But, fuck, he couldn't help it! This Miko woman was dangerous; he just knew it! 

She leant forward in her chair. One of her hands travelled in the vague direction of McKay's chest. But in the end, she never made it that far. 

John had her forcibly escorted from the restaurant. 

***

In all honesty, John couldn't understand where all the shouting was coming from. He'd done an excellent job protecting McKay. That woman had clearly been reaching for a butter knife, or a bread stick, or something equally dangerous, and given McKay's intense paranoia, McKay should have been delighted. But McKay hadn't stopped shouting for over five minutes, and frankly John was getting a little concerned about his blood pressure. 

"Look," he said when McKay finally took a breath, "my job is to protect you." 

"From _Miko_? Are you serious?" 

"She was reaching for something!" John yelled. And, Christ, was he the only one, who'd seen that? When McKay responded by stalking off to the SUV, he turned to Teyla and Ronon, expecting them to back him up. What they both did, instead, was stare at him with varying levels of disapproval. 

"You're kidding me!" John couldn't believe this was happening. "What, now you're taking his side?" 

"He makes me stuff!" Ronon shrugged, not even trying to look repentant about that. 

Teyla simply looked like she was considering the best way to deliver a hard message. "It is admirable that you are so dedicated to ensuring Rodney's well being." And for a moment, her words made him feel vindicated, like someone at least got where he was coming from. Then, she said, "However, for some time now, your focus has bordered on fixation, one that is affecting both your and Rodney's ability to form meaningful relationships." 

Which made him do a mental spit-take, because unless that was her version of a joke, they were talking a serious need for an intervention here. 

"Also, have care that your protectiveness where Rodney is concerned does not stray further into possessiveness, so that you are not tempted to use your position to ward off others, who would seek his company." 

And when she put it that way, the whole thing sounded weird and a little creepy. Which was completely unfair, as far as he was concerned! It was his job to obsess about McKay's safety; he was pretty sure he did that without the stalker-ish elements thrown in. 

"Okay, fine! So, maybe I've been a bit aggressive at enforcing some of our new protocols." He was a man; he could admit that much. "But that doesn't mean I've crossed any lines. I've only done what anyone would reasonably expect from a good bodyguard. Right?" 

Neither one of them said anything at that point. Which pretty much settled it: he _was_ acting like some kind of creepy, obsessive stalker. And as he stumbled under the weight of that truth, he couldn't help glancing over at the SUV where McKay was waiting, shoulders down, looking absolutely miserable. 

Just seeing that expression made him cringe with guilt. But it didn't stop him panicking at the idea of backing off. McKay's obliviousness could only last so long, and it was only a matter of time before McKay figured out that these women were practically throwing their panties at him. And the wait for that to happen was driving him crazy. 

He was going to have to man up, he knew that now, before he destroyed what was left of his relationship with McKay. Because, this didn't look like something he could fix with Twinkies and a few shoulder rubs. 

***

Rather than confronting the situation head-on, he decided to take a bit of a detour first. 

"Sir," he said, striding into General O'Neill's office, "I really need to get back out into the field." After that, his arms went through an embarrassing display where even he wasn't sure if he was trying to salute a superior officer or smack himself in the face. 

Once he settled at ease, O'Neill gave him a look he found hard to interpret. 

"McKay's finally getting to you, huh?" 

"Something like that." He felt bad about implying there was something wrong with McKay when really it was all him. He just didn't feel bad enough to stop. "You know how it is with civilians, sir. Sometimes you just need a little distance." 

Now, he got a raised eyebrow, which looked every bit as sceptical as it did amused. 

"Let me guess: would off world be enough distance for you?" O'Neill didn't give him a chance to confirm one way or another. "Well, Major, it looks you're in luck! SG-15's gearing up in two hours for a milk run to P8X-211. You can go out with them." 

And since O'Neill was clearly giving him a break in more ways than one, he tried his damnedest to look excited at the prospect. The problem was, _a new team_ wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd walked in here. He wasn't comfortable with the idea of leaving Teyla and Ronon behind on his first trip off world. In fact, the thought of other people watching his back made his stomach clench with unease. 

It got worse when O'Neill said, "One more thing, though," making it sound trivial and almost not worth paying attention to. "Colonel Dixon's a bit eccentric. But, hey, I figure you're used to that after McKay. Right?" 

He really couldn't tell if O'Neill was trying to reassure him or to terrify him. Either way, he didn't suppose it mattered any more. He'd asked for distance, and O'Neill was giving him a way out, and he had no choice now but to take the assignment. 

***

Unfortunately, 'eccentric' turned out to mean 'bat-shit crazy', and what was supposed to be a milk run turned into a cluster fuck of gargantuan proportions. 

He spent most of it running for his life, doing his best not to get shot, stabbed or hacked to pieces by a horde of angry Erlani soldiers. Half the time, that happened by sheer luck. But since the mission felt like one fucked up metaphor, it seemed inevitable that trying to run from his problems with McKay would lead to being pinned down in a ditch alongside what was left of SG-15, almost out of ammunition, and several klicks from the Stargate. 

As he relayed their status to the SGC, who'd radioed about their missed check-in, the Erlani kept bearing down on their position. And he didn't need anyone to tell him that they were shit out of luck. With Dixon concussed, Dumais dead and Michaels bleeding out next to him, there were too many hostiles for him to handle alone. 

"We're too far from the Stargate; reinforcements won't reach us in time," he had to yell that over the sound of approaching weapons fire. "Send in a UAV, and target missiles to these co-ordinates. Do it now, over and out!" Then, he hurled last of his grenades over the top, and slumped back against one side of the gorge, waiting. 

Slumped against the other, Dixon nodded his approval, grinning at him through bloodstained teeth. 

John couldn't quite find it in himself to smile back. As bad as things had got, he hadn't really believed they would die here today. But, he told himself harshly, if he was going to die, at least he was going to take a whole heap of Erlani out with him. 

The first few men over-ran their position moments before the air strike hit. Borne back by a wave of enemy soldiers, he looked up to watch that deadly payload ignite. His last thought as the world around him went up in flames was relief that Teyla, Ronon and Rodney were safe on Earth and weren't going to die in this hellhole with him. 

***

Under the circumstances, he was a little surprised wake up with a canula in his nose, an IV piercing the back of his hand, and the steady sound of a heart monitor beeping in the background. Underneath the numbing haze of drugs, he could feel the ache that ran the entire length of his body—proof that somehow he'd made it out alive. And it took several moments of blinking before the shapes above him resolved into the bloodstained, tear-streaked faces of his two very anxious teammates. 

Teyla spent a long time lecturing him with her eyes. But it was Ronon, who usually eschewed speech in favour of other forms of communication, who apparently felt the need to voice what they were both thinking. 

"You're an asshole," Ronon told him plainly, "a stupid fucking asshole," in case he'd somehow missed that part. "And if you ever make us come to get you like that again, I will fucking shoot you myself!" 

Ronon very carefully then leant down to hug him, still mumbling about how much of an asshole he was, and very graciously not mentioning the sobs that were hitching out of his throat. 

He drifted off to sleep in Ronon's arms, grateful to be alive and too raw with the shock of it all to ask why McKay wasn't there with them. 

***

For most of his recovery, John wasn't capable of much more than drifting in and out of consciousness. Ronon stayed through the worst of it, while Teyla stayed in-between shifts, and he remembered it clearly whenever Captain Lorne and Sergeant Bates stopped by to visit. Everyone else was a blur. 

There were odd moments where things were pretty hazy from the drugs and where he could have sworn that McKay was at his side, laying out in biting detail how much of a moron he'd been to run off without them. But each time his mind cleared up, McKay was conspicuous in his absence, and each time he asked whether McKay had come to see him, the answer was always 'no'. 

He kept asking until Ronon finally said, "He's pretty angry," the 'with you' all the more devastating in its silence. After that, John spent a lot of time pretending not to notice that McKay had apparently had enough of him. 

That feeling of abandonment grew when McKay abruptly left for Washington with Teyla and Ronon in tow. To make matters worse, he had to find that out from Lorne, since none of _his_ team bothered to tell him that they were leaving in the first place. 

He supposed he had it coming, given the way _he'd_ behaved. But he hadn't anticipated that McKay would completely pull the rug out from under him, like he wasn't even worth McKay's time. It hurt far more than he was willing to admit, because underneath it all he'd thought they were friends. Most of all, he was just upset that McKay didn't seem to want anything to do with him any more. 

***

Over the next few weeks, John tried not to let the loss of his entire team affect him too much. But in the weeks they were away, he did get rather bored. And because he got bored, he started noticing things. 

He noticed the very definitive pattern to Lorne's visits. Which tended to start at 0900 hours sharp, followed by Bates at 1300 hours, then Lorne again at 1700 hours. Bates always came by to walk him to Physio, and Lorne always brought him back, almost as though the two of them were on some sort of schedule.

When he asked Lorne about it, very casually of course, Lorne gave him a shifty look and said, "I don't know what you mean, sir," before forcibly dragging the conversation back to college football. And that, more than anything, convinced him that something was up because Lorne was one of those rare San Francisco guys who hated football. 

Still, it was only after he varied his routine that he realized he was being followed. Because, while he could chalk some things up to coincidence, no way did that blond marine guy just happen to be in the hallway every time he left a room. 

On the way to Physio the following day, he decided he was going to get to the bottom of the situation. He started off by saying, "So, I hear you've got a thing for Teyla," even more casually to Bates, who promptly walked face first into a wall, giving _him_ plenty of time to take off round the corner. 

*** 

Barging into O'Neill's office, he got there just in time to catch: " . . . oh, please, Hedgehog's not on the loose! He's on the way here—" before O'Neill closed his end of the Comms down rather abruptly. 

" _Hedgehog_?" John snarled.

"Every subject gets a designation, soldier; you know that!" O'Neill said mildly. But the gleam in his eyes also said that he was laughing his ass off, and John still didn't know what the hell he was missing. 

"Since when am I the kind of subject, who needs a protection detail?" 

_Now_ he got a massive eye-roll. Which apparently meant: 

"McKay insisted?"

"You bet your ass he insisted," O'Neill roared that last part, evidently wanting to make it loud and clear. "Son, that scientist of yours _insisted_ his way through the Senate, the Pentagon and the State Department. I think the joint chiefs finally decided it was easier to promote you than to have to listen to him. Though, between you and me, your promotion was long overdue—" 

"My _what_?" John cut in, wanting to make sure he'd heard that right, and for a moment he was actually worried that O'Neill was going to shoot him. 

"Colonel Sheppard, are you having difficulty keeping up?" 

"No, sir," he gulped, because _holy shit_ he had heard that right. "It's just I don't see why that suddenly means I get a protection detail." 

He stared at O'Neill, hoping for an explanation or maybe a few hints to point him in the right direction. What he got instead was the sort of strained silence that sounded like O'Neill was still debating whether or not to shoot him. 

"Apparently, it's for your own good," O'Neill said after making him sweat for a while. "And frankly, I'm inclined to agree. Did you know Colonel Dixon's unofficial report on P8X-211 says—and I quote—you're one crazy son of a bitch. That's high praise coming from him!" And there was another strained moment of silence, before O'Neill spoke again. "I take it McKay didn't mention any of this to you before he left for Washington."

John could only shake his head, bewildered. All this time, he'd thought McKay had washed his hands of him, but now it seemed Rodney had been up to something else entirely. 

"Oh, well, what's done is done," and O'Neill shrugged his shoulders. From the slightly pained expression on his face, it was clear he wanted the conversation done too. "Shouldn't you be in Physio or something? In fact, why are you even here?" 

O'Neill sat there staring at him until he had the good sense to get out of his office. 

***

He finally got the answers he wanted when McKay returned from Washington a few days later. 

McKay seemed surprised to see him, at first, sitting in his living room right there on his couch. But after both of their respective details took one look at each other and then decided to leave them to it, McKay seemed to get quite agitated. "What are you doing here?" McKay pointed at him accusingly. "This had better not be another one of your drills! Also, aren't you supposed to be recovering? Why are you even out of Medical?" 

"Gee, Rodney, I don't know," John drawled, getting up and walking over. "Maybe if _someone_ hadn't run off, leaving a bunch of people to spy on me, then I wouldn't have had to come here to get some answers!" 

McKay's eyes widened all of a sudden before skittering away, and the way they darted toward the door had _him_ veering to one side to block the escape route. 

"What did you do in Washington, Rodney?" he continued in a deceptively mild tone of voice. 

"Nothing!" bluffed McKay. "What makes you think I did anything there?" 

"Rodney," John growled, taking another step forward, and McKay promptly admitted: 

"All right, fine! I may have let slip to some very influential people that you were critical to the development of certain projects I'm working on. And that given said criticality to our planet's defence, it was appropriate that you should have a threat rating that was commensurate to mine." 

" _Rodney_!" 

" _What_?" And McKay actually had the gall to sound irritated; John couldn't believe it. 

"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate your concern," he said, because, honestly, he did! McKay was one of the few people, who genuinely gave a damn about him. "It's just I have a job to do, which is to run your protection detail. And I can't do that job with a detail of my own. So, just get it removed and we'll call it even. Okay?" 

"No." 

"No?" 

"Do you have _any_ idea the mountain of red tape I had to go through?" McKay sniffed, lifting his chin. "Thankfully, Senator Clarkson—who adores you, by the way—was kind enough to cut through most of it for me. And since she also agreed with me that your reckless proclivities could be put to better use heading up the SGC's F-302 program, once you've recovered, your _new_ job will be to roll out fighter jets reverse engineered from Goa'uld technology. Assuming, of course, you like the sound of that?" 

At this point, John didn't think his legs would hold him up any more. By going to Mitch's grandma, Rodney had effectively landed him his dream assignment, and with both of them conspiring together, John felt like the wind had been taken out of his sails. 

He staggered back to the couch, staggered at the lengths McKay had gone to. And as he crumpled down onto it, it occurred to him that unless he was reading this wrong, McKay seemed to have a hell of a lot invested in his happiness. 

_Then_ , he looked up into wide blue eyes that were watching him with unease. 

Rodney wasn't just invested in his happiness, he realized; Rodney was committed to it, and prepared to go well out of his way to secure it. And connecting these dots into a whole new picture, he could barely contain the joy that was fluttering in his stomach, especially after Rodney shuffled over to stand right in front of him. 

"You _do_ like the sound of that, don't you?" Rodney's voice shook a fraction. "I mean, that _is_ what you've always wanted isn't it: the chance to fly stupidly fast planes and to be an astronaut and do lots of stupid things?" 

John nodded; it _was_ what he'd always wanted, ever since he was a little boy. 

"Okay, good!" Rodney patted him on the shoulder, looking relieved at first, and then pleased. "Plus, you haven't even heard the best part yet," and by then Rodney was practically beaming. "The senator made sure the F-302 program reports directly into her oversight committee. So, with the command position you've got, guys like Everett won't be able to touch you now." 

And even _he_ got that Rodney was actually telling him: '*I* won't let anyone touch you!' Because Rodney was clearly on a mission to take care of him; he could see that now. And apparently his dreams of having a future with Rodney weren't so unattainable after all. 

He thought about their friendship thus far, about the pots of home-made sun-screen protection factor 2000 that were sitting in his locker, and about how Rodney always put his welfare first whilst somehow always making sure he had the coolest assignments. And as Rodney went on describing the various fail-safes he'd put in place to protect him from Everett and every other CO who'd even looked at him funny during his career, slowly, that feeling of joy spread right the way through his chest. 

"You know, I would have said 'yes'," he murmured seemingly out of nowhere, making Rodney stutter to a stop. "If you'd asked me out on a date," he explained at the puzzled look Rodney gave him. "Instead of getting me my own flight program, or whatever else it is you think I want," and he grabbed the hand Rodney had been waving in front of him and held it gently, very serious all of a sudden. "I would have said 'yes', Rodney. To you. Any time. You do get that, don't you?" 

Rodney certainly seemed to, if his stunned expression was anything to go by. 

He watched Rodney smile then, and let himself do the same, feeling his face flush as Rodney laced their fingers together. And although neither of them said anything for some time, Rodney kept glancing furtively at him, before looking away. 

He seemed to be struggling with something, or more accurately gearing himself up for something; John could see it in the tilt of his chin and the way Rodney struggled to meet his eyes whenever he glanced down. 

Rather than ask what was bothering him, John decided to wait. Whatever it was, he knew Rodney wouldn't be able to hold back for long. 

Sure enough, Rodney soon blurted out: "Aren't you supposed to be in bed? I have a great prescription mattress if you need to lie down." 

John barely managed to choke back a snort of laughter, because that had to be the worst pick up line he'd ever heard. 

"Laugh all you want, Sheppard, but that line is actually working on you!" And as Rodney stood over him, red-faced and smirking, John was vaguely surprised to realize that it was. 

He wasn't going to go down without a fight, though, not when Rodney was practically radiating smugness. So, he leant back in his seat and drawled, "Plan on doing anything about it?" making it as much of a challenge as he could. 

Moments later, he had to bite back a whimper as Rodney's eyes gleamed. 

***

They didn't make it anywhere near that mattress for some time. 

Rodney decided to help him move from the couch to said mattress, and _that_ version of help involved a lot of touching—to his chest, his shoulders and to the side of his neck. Only, somewhere between Rodney bending down and _him_ curling both arms round Rodney's waist, one of Rodney's hands slid into his hair while the other stroked along his lower back. And somehow that led to the sort of slow, deep kissing where Rodney had him stretched out on top of him, with one thigh pressed between both of his, and where he was rocking helplessly onto that thigh and shuddering with pleasure, going slowly out of his mind. 

"Rodney," he panted, after lifting his mouth away. And he kept trying to catch his breath, trying to think as Rodney mouthed his way along his jaw and up to his ear. 

"Everything okay?" Rodney asked him, before drawing his teeth gently over the sensitive skin below his ear. 

"Yeah," John nodded, still struggling for air. He clutched at Rodney's shoulders, shivering at the feel of Rodney's lips on his throat. Then, he let out an embarrassingly loud moan as Rodney slid one hand down inside the back of his boxers. 

"Come on, I've got you," Rodney told him, cupping the back of his neck with the other, using it to draw him in. 

And _Jesus_ , he knew Rodney had power and control issues, but he'd never quite imagined it would translate into _this_. He tipped his head up, following Rodney's lead, opening his mouth for Rodney's tongue and sucking desperately on it. And when Rodney stroked two fingers between his buttocks and rubbed him there, circling again and again over his opening, he could feel himself start to lose it. 

Wrenching his mouth free, he grunted, " _Rodney_ ," low and harsh, hips juddering down. And even though part of him was shocked at the way he was basically humping Rodney's thigh, he wasn't sure he could stop himself even if he'd wanted to. 

He turned his face into Rodney's shoulder and started biting at it, trying to muffle the sounds he couldn't hold in any more. But the hand in his hair pulled him away, drawing his head up for Rodney to whisper, "Don't hide from me," right in his ear. "I want to hear you, John, to _see_ you . . ." And something in him shattered then, because he couldn't say no to Rodney, not when Rodney was trembling under him, sounding almost as wrecked as he was. 

"Rodney, please," he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment. "Please, I need—" he hitched up to meet those circling fingers, then shivered back down, hips working as those warm, sweet bursts of pleasure kept curling through his stomach. And on his next hitch up, Rodney gave him what he needed and pressed inside him, pressing one finger in as deep as it could go. 

Gasping, John hunched over with pleasure, and all he could do for several long moments was lie there, panting into Rodney's throat while he shuddered and came in thick, slow spurts, soaking the front of his BDUs with come. 

***

Later, after Rodney had helped him clean up, and once they were curled up in bed facing each other, John really started to understand how far Rodney's control issues ran in the bedroom. 

"I can't believe you won't let me do anything for you," and while he made sure he sounded casual, he was actually pushing. 

Rodney, on the other hand, still looked guilty about making out with him in the first place. "We're not going any further until your doctor clears you for more vigorous activity," he murmured. "And don't try to tempt me with your masculine wiles; I won't give in, not where your health is concerned." 

At this point, John decided that he needed to brush up on those wiles, because clearly they weren't getting the job done, even though he hadn't been trying that hard. 

"At least we don't need background checks before we go out for dinner!" Rodney beamed at him all of a sudden, looking quite smug. 

"Rodney—" John pushed himself up on one elbow, worried Rodney thought he could relax now that they were together. 

But Rodney very quickly disabused him of that notion. "Look, if this is about me needing to maintain my security, then I agree with you wholeheartedly," Rodney told him, stroking one hand down his chest. "Also, you were right all along: you never know what people may be hiding unless you check up on them. Take Miko, for instance. It turns out she heads up the Colorado chapter of 'The Mer-maids'. Can you believe that?" 

"I'm sorry, the _what_?" John cocked his head to one side. 

"'The Mer-maids'," Rodney said again. When he raised an eyebrow, Rodney added, "My oestrogen brigade. Surely you've heard of them?" 

John shook his head because, no, he had not. "Why do they call themselves—?" 

"That part's not important," Rodney cut in, rather sharply in his opinion—making him realize that it probably _was_. "The important thing," Rodney stressed, "is that, as a fan base, they're very loyal but incredibly over-zealous in their attempts to interact with me. Which is why I need a lot of protection." 

"From mermaids." John wanted to be clear about that. 

"Not mermaids," snapped Rodney, "'The Mer-Maids'!" And for some reason, Rodney seemed to think the hyphenation and capitalization would make it seem less ridiculous. 

"Any other sea creatures from your past I should know about?" He tried to say it using his serious command voice, to imbue those words with the gravitas they deserved. 

Rodney, who apparently knew him far too well, just sputtered before rolling over with an annoyed little huff. 

John bit the inside of his cheek, smirking. He could tell from the set of Rodney's shoulders that Rodney wasn't really angry with him. Still, taking the opportunity, he put his hands on them and started kneading them gently, wondering all the while how Rodney was going to retaliate. 

The last time he'd seriously pissed Rodney off, Rodney had dropped a protection detail on him and had then had him promoted. Worst case scenario, he was pretty sure he would be on his way to General before the year was through. 

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> The main arc for the His Bodyguard timeline. Whilst there are [other fics / timestamps](http://archiveofourown.org/series/13858) in this universe, this can be read 'standalone'.


End file.
